Foxy Lady
by carryonmy-waywardson
Summary: Sam comes home from Stanford for summer break and decides to check out a gorgeous new dancer all of his friends have been raving about.


**Warnings:** cross dressing, bit of sub/dom commanding, forced gagging, rimming, biting, bareback sex, first time (for the pair), hair pulling, dirty talk, use of the words baby and sweetheart.  
**Word Count: **5,934

* * *

Even before Sam comes home, all his friends can talk about is a stripper by the name of Deanna; they say she's tall, has killer legs, green eyes that could make any man drop to their knees, and the best pair of cock sucking lips anyone's ever seen. Whenever he asks for a picture, his friends tell him to wait and see her in person because pictures do her no justice, and that's exactly what Sam plans on doing during summer break.

Summer finally comes and Sam packs his things into his car before heading back home, making the long trip back to Kansas with only one stop along the way. The entire trip, Sam thrums excitedly, wondering what Deanna will be like and if he can manage to get a private room with her.

By the time Sam comes home, he doesn't want to socialize with his parents or his brother, who's not even around anyway; he takes his things upstairs, falls asleep on his childhood bed, and wakes up well after eight in the evening, when the sun's already set and half the neighborhood is getting ready for bed.

"Sammy?" There's a soft knock on the door, followed by the sound of his mom's voice and Sam yanks a clean t-shirt over his head. When the hem's straight and he's covered, he turns to look at his mom, smiling brightly at her. "Where are you going?" Mary asks, a smile on her face as she leans against the door, hand wrapped around the doorknob.

Sam shrugs and grabs his belt from the bed. "Do you want the truth or a lie?"

"The truth," his mother replies, voice borderline amused.

"Going to a strip club, the one with the new dancer?" Even as he speaks, Sam knows that his mother has no idea what he's talking about, and he threads his belt through the loops of his jeans, turning to face his mom as he buckles it. "Shouldn't be out too late; I'm going by myself, so I won't have anything to drink."

Mary nods and laughs quietly. "Alright," she starts, pushing off the door, "be careful and let us know if you're going to be home late — or if you won't be home at all."

For a moment, Sam looks up and meets his mother's eyes and he swears she's encouraging him to go out and get laid. Snorting, he shakes his head and crosses the room, wrapping an arm around his mom, hugging her body to his.

"I'll be careful — don't worry," he assures Mary, easing away to give her a smile, showing his dimples. His mom reaches up, pats his face once, and turns back to head down the hall, shaking her head the entire way.

Once his mom is gone, Sam turns back to his room and grabs a jacket, shrugging it on before snatching his keys off the table. After one last check in the mirror (and a few last-minute hair adjustments), he heads out of the house and gets into his car. He depresses the clutch, starts the engine, and shifts into reverse, letting go of the clutch slowly, letting the car ease back out of the driveway.

When he's back out into the street, Sam presses the clutch down again, shifts the car into first, and eases off the pedal as he taps the gas, driving down the road. As he drives, his fingers tap against the steering wheel and the shift, his fingers wrapping around it when it's time for him to shift again.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam pulls up into the parking lot of the strip club and puts the car into park, engaging the emergency brake before turning the engine off. He gives himself a minute to calm down and collect himself before he opens the door and steps out, shutting the door with his hip.

Staring at the bright, flashing neon signs in front of him, Sam chews on his lower lip and hits the lock button on his key ring before slipping it into his pocket. Another moment of hesitation and Sam says _fuck it_ under his breath before stepping onto the sidewalk, moving toward the door.

His hand wraps around the door handle and Sam can feel the vibrations from the music pulsating through it, vibrating throughout his body. It's oddly calming and he opens the door and steps inside the barely-lit, perfume and body sprayed filled room.

A couple (an older man and a woman that looks barely over eighteen) almost bump into him and Sam steps out of the way, his lips formed into a hard, thin smile in way of an apology. Then he looks around in the strobe lights and he smells the whiskey and beer all around him, the stench only making his stomach roll. Sighing deeply, Sam moves to the bar and gets the attention of the bartender, who's wearing a low-cut shirt with her cleavage pouring out of the cut.

"What can I get you, sweetie?" She asks in a voice that's so sweet and high-pitched that it's almost sickening and Sam swallows hard, looking at the rows of bottles behind the bar, scrunching his mouth at one side.

Sam turns back to the bartender and smiles. "I'll take a beer."

"One beer, coming right up." She plasters a smile on her face - too wide, with too much teeth - before she turns around and Sam realizes that she's perkier than her tits — which, he deduces, are probably fake, from the way they sit high on her chest. Either that, or she's wearing a great push-up bra that Sam should probably compliment her on.

When the bartender turns around, she's got a beer in her hand, the top already twisted off, and the overkill of a smile still on her face. Sam thinks, dimly, that she might be cute if she wore normal clothing and stopped smiling so goddamn much, but he doesn't say this to _her_; he just smiles, taking the beer gratefully.

"Can I get you anything else?" Her voice is as perky as ever and Sam wonders if she's like with this with all the customers, or just the seemingly-new ones. For a second, he shakes his head and takes a sip of beer, swallowing the cold liquid.

Just when she's about to turn again, Sam stops her. "Wait, I do have one question."

"What's that?"

"Do you know who I've gotta talk to, in order to get a private dance with one of the girls?" And, _God_, this is dirty and wrong, but Sam doesn't take his words back; he wants this, wants to see this Deanna girl that's stolen his friend's heart and half the contents of their wallet.

The girl points to a guy at the opposite end of the bar. "Talk to him and he'll seat you up, sweetheart." She drops her hand, brushing her fingers against the back of Sam's and turns away, walking down the bar to take care of some other men that came in during their conversation.

Sam drinks more beer and watches the guy carefully, waiting until he's done talking with someone else to get up, taking his bottle with him. When he gets over to the guy, Sam's heart is hammering in his chest and his palms are sweaty - he thinks, for a moment, that it's just condensation from the beer but realizes this would only be so, had only one hand been slick.

"Can I help you?" The man's rough voice pulls Sam out of his thoughts and he knits his brows together, staring at the guy in front of him: he's short, balding, and wearing a suit that probably costs half of what Sam paid for the Mustang sitting in front of the club.

Swallowing hard, Sam nods his head. "Yeah, I'd like a private dance with one of the girls? Her name's Deanna."

"Yeah, yeah, Deanna." The guy's eyes light up and he licks his lower lip slowly, looking Sam up and down, quirking a brow. "You sure you want a private dance with her? It's kind of expensive, kid."

"Yeah, I know expensive." Sam scoffs and takes a long sip of his beer, swallowing the liquid before he mumbles, "I go to Stanford; the school's expensive and everything out in Palo Alto costs more than I can afford. Trust me, I know."

The guy snorts and waves another guy over, talking to him so low that Sam can't register what they're saying, nor does he actually give a damn. While they talk, he drinks slowly, keeping the lip of the bottle pressed against his mouth as he looks around, taking in the sight of the other dances and the middle aged desperate men shoving bills down their underwear.

When Sam turns back around, the second guy is gone and the bald guy's tipping his head to the side, both brows lifted expectantly, like Sam's _supposed to know_ what that means.

"Dude, just tell me," he blurts out before draining the remaining beer, setting the empty bottle on the bar top. Short and bald glares at Sam and sighs heavily, leading him toward a brightly painted door with the word 'private' written on it in some kind of glittery paint.

"She'll be in shortly — drink while you wait." The man opens the door and pushes Sam into the room, shutting the door once he's inside. Huffing, Sam looks around the room and decides that it's too pink for his tastes and he wonders how long it'll take him to get out of the club, and if he'll be noticed.

Sam shrugs his shoulders and grabs a bottle of champagne that's chilling in a bucket of ice, cracking it open. He jumps a bit when the cork flies out of the top and sucks the champagne off his hand when it trickles down the neck of the bottle, laughing against his skin.

Moving over to the couch, Sam grabs a glass and pours himself some champagne, setting the bottle on the floor beside his foot, taking a sip of the liquid. The bubbles tickle his nose and he wrinkles it to the feeling and the taste of the champagne, something he's only had two other times in his life.

Five minutes and two glasses of bubbly later, Sam starts to wonder if they're just playing a trick on him; he doubts that Deanna will be in there any time soon. He decides to give up and shifts forward, setting his empty glass next to the bottle of champagne, running a hand down his face, remembering how he promised his mom he wouldn't drink.

In the midst of mentally chastising himself, Sam doesn't hear the door open and doesn't notice the other person in the room until he hears something clatter to the floor. Jumping to his feet, Sam turns and mutters under his breath, staring at the beautiful girl standing in front of him.

"Shit I — I'm sorry. Are you alright?" Sam smiles softly at the woman, who he can only guess is the famous Deanna, and she nods her head, pursing her cherry red lips together. There's something familiar in the stripper's face, but Sam can't quite put his finger on it, though he would love to. "My name's Sam," he offers, grinning so wide that he _knows_ his dimples are showing.

Deanna chews on her lower lip, looking wary. "Deanna," she replies, voice high pitched but beautiful and Sam can't take his eyes off her lips; everyone was right, they do look like they were made for sucking cock.

"Nice to meet you." And Sam means it; he's been waiting for months for this moment and his entire body is thrumming with excitement, even more than before. He steps forward cautiously, weighing Deanna's reactions, and then he takes another step until he can touch her gently, fingertips brushing along her arms.

When Sam touches her, she flinches slightly, lip caught between her teeth, lipstick smeared slightly. She has an apologetic expression on her face but Sam gets it; he knows he probably shouldn't touch the dancers without their permission, but she's too beautiful _not_ to touch.

"Uh, Sam?" Deanna's voice is shaky and uncertain, so Sam takes a step back.

"Yeah?"

Again, the dancer chews on her lower lip as she lifts a hand, pushing a blond curl out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. She tilts her head toward the light and Sam can see just how green her eyes really are; they're emerald, outlined in black, her eyelids painted black as well. When she closes her eyes, they're hidden behind a crop of long, black eyelashes and Sam doesn't think he's seen someone so beautiful.

Blinking her eyes open, Deanna stares at Sam and mutters: "_Sammy_."

When Sam hears that name - the _nickname_ that his mom, dad, and brother call him - he stills and stares down at Deanna with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape. It takes a moment for the gears to start grinding in his head and he shakes his head violently, taking a step away from Deanna — from _Dean_.

"Shit, Dean! What — _fuck_, what are you doing here? Dressed like…" Sam's words fade away and he stares at his brother, teeth snagged on his lower lip. Dean's standing there, wearing a red and black corset with a skirt attached to it to make it look like a dress, his make up and hair done beautifully and tears rimming his eyes.

After a moment, Dean whispers, in his normal voice, "I was going to tell you, Sammy — I really was. I just, didn't know you'd come here and _ask for me_." He lets out a small bark of laughter that just_sounds_ hurt and upset.

"It's alright, man." Sam walks toward his brother and wraps both arms around him, pressing his face against Dean's hair - _wig_, he reminds himself - and holds him close. There's space between them and Sam feels Dean's hands go to his stomach, fingers splayed against the thin fabric of his t-shirt and it sends an electric shock of emotions through him.

They stand there quietly, Sam's arms around Dean and the eldest's hands on Sam's stomach, fingers twisting in the fabric, making Sam squirm, though he tries his best _not to_. He thinks, for a moment, that this is the better way to find out about your brother being a drag queen, and he laughs at that thought. A second thought comes to mind and it's got Sam moving before he can even finish it.

Stepping back, Sam drops his arms away and crosses them over his chest. "Strip," he says, moving back toward the couch before dropping down on it. Dean's giving him a deer in the headlights kind of look, head cocked to the side, lips parted.

"What — Sammy, you - you can't be serious," he sputters.

"Deadly. Take off your clothes for me, show me your body, baby." Sam spreads his legs a bit, moves his hands to his thighs and looks at Dean expectantly, a slow grin spreading across his face. And it takes a moment for his brother to get in motion, moving to the counter across the room, leaning back against it, his bowed legs spread slightly. "That's it," Sam purrs, "just like that, Deanna."

Dean blushes at the use of his drag name and bends forward, his hands traveling down one of his legs, grabbing the hem of his skirt. He starts inching it up, revealing a pair of thigh-high boots with _at least_ a three inch heel and Sam wonders how in the hell Dean can walk in those.

"You're so sexy; bet your legs are too, huh?" Sam talks, his filter completely gone and all coherent and sane thoughts thrown out the window as Dean unhooks the skirt from the corset, before tossing it away.

The fabric falls to the ground and swooshes slightly, leaving Dean in just the corset, boots, a pair of fishnet stockings and black and red underwear to match the skirt and the corset. And Sam shouldn't be enjoying this but he can't stop himself from moving a hand to the front of his jeans, pressing his heel against his cock.

Dean grins and brings a leg up, resting his foot on a chair in front of the counter. A hand travels down the inside of his thigh, fingers pulling at the stockings that barely leave anything to the imagination, before he grabs the zipper of his boot.

Groaning, Sam bites down on his lower lip, nodding for Dean to keep going; he watches as the zipper slides down, and Dean pulls the leg down, shimmying it out of the boot, kicking it to the side. When Sam sees his brother's legs (or leg, seeing as the other's still inside of his boot), he moans and swallows hard, wondering how Dean kept _those_ away from him for so long.

"You enjoying the show, Sammy?" Dean asks, turning to the side and bending over, unzipping the other boot and all Sam can do is grunt in response; the hand on the front of his jeans pressing against his cock harder, a gasp escaping his lips.

Giggling, Dean kicks his boot away and stands in front of the counter, slowly unhooking the fishnet from the strap of his panties. He does it slowly, fingers playing with each other the straps before letting them dangle, hitting the insides of his thighs. It takes all Sam has not to get up and pin Dean against the wall or bend him over the counter, so he stays in his seat, whimpering from the show.

"Bend over the counter," Sam barks, his voice harsher than he intends for it to be, but Dean doesn't jump at it. Instead, he nods and unhooks the last strap before turning, pressing both palms against the counter top, bending over slowly. He does it so slowly, in fact, that Sam wonders if he's a natural tease or if it's something he's learned from working in the strip club.

Finally, Dean bends over and swaps his hips, looking at Sam over his shoulder, grinning. "You wanna see the rest of me, big boy, or is this good enough?"

"I wanna see it all." And Sam means it; he's too far gone and too invested in Dean's show to just leave before the good parts. Plus, he wants to see what his brother's been hiding underneath his clothes for so many years; he should probably feel like a pervert, but Sam doesn't. If anything, he feels like all those men back in California that he made fun of for being addicted to strippers, but he gets it now. "You can turn back around," he says, voice even and calm.

"Yes sir." Dean turns back around and reaches behind his back, unlacing his corset, gasping when it expands and loosens, allowing him to breath better than before. He works on getting that off and tosses it onto the floor before bending down, rolling his stockings down, throwing them at Sam with a smirk.

Sam catches them, tossing them onto the floor. "Show me your cock, baby. I can see you're hard," Sam nods pointedly to the bulge in Dean's panties, "and I know you're gonna get off to your baby brother being so crazy over you. Aren't ya, sweetheart?" And Sam doesn't know _where_ these words are coming from, they just roll off his tongue.

"Yeah," Dean says in a small voice, chewing on his lower lip as he hooks his thumbs underneath the waistband of his flimsy panties. He pulls them away slowly and works them down his hips and over his thighs, kicking them to the side before straightening up.

"God," Sam breathes as he lets his eyes roam up and down Dean's body, his gaze stopping on the gorgeous cock between his brother's legs. It's bigger than Sam expected, though he's never _really_ given the size of his brother's dick much thought before, and he licks his lips. "Gorgeous."

Again, Dean blushes and he moves a hand up, taking his wig off, tossing it on the floor, carding his fingers through the hair that's naturally his. "You really think so?"

"You want proof?" Sam asks, and Dean nods, leaning back against the counter, one hand moving down the middle of his chest, fingertips tracing his abs. A moan escapes Sam's throat and he stands, moving both hands to his belt, unbuckling it as quickly as his trembling fingers will allow. He can feel Dean's eyes on him as he works on getting it undone, and he grins to himself as he gets the buckle unhooked, before he pops the button of his jeans.

Looking up at Dean, Sam winks and pulls his zipper down, sliding both hands into the waistband of his jeans and boxers, pushing them toward the floor. Both sets of fabric fall around his ankles and Sam shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it aimlessly onto the couch.

Dean's eyes go wide and he takes in a deep breath, eyes locked on Sam's cock, watching as his brother wraps a hand around the base, stroking it slowly. "Fuck," he mutters, dipping his own hand low on his stomach, fingertips brushing against his cock.

"Nu-uh, no touching yourself." The words come out snippy and Dean immediately draws his hand back, whining around his bitten lip. Sam takes a moment to admire Dean's body from afar, while nudging his boots off and kicking them to the side, along with his jeans and boxers.

"_Sam_," Dean whimpers, locking eyes with his brother.

Grinning, Sam moves forward, pulling his shirt off as he does. "Tell me what you want, baby. You want this cock inside you? Maybe you wanna suck it — show me just how well you can take my cock down your throat?" As he talks, Sam moves one of Dean's hands to his cock, letting him stroke it.

After one stroke, Dean groans and pushes Sam back before dropping to his knees, his lips immediately going to Sam's cock; he wraps them around the head and sucks slowly, teasing the slit with the tip of his tongue. He closes his eyes and hums around Sam before taking more of him into his mouth, relaxing his throat to take the entire length.

One of Sam's hands go to Dean's hair and he tugs the short locks. "Fuck, your mouth feels so good, baby. How many customers have you sucked, Dean?" Sam's words start to come out in small breaths and he works his hips toward his brother's face, fucking his mouth slowly. "Your lips and mouth and -_fuck_ - tongue were made for this, weren't they?"

Dean hums around Sam's cock, one hand wrapping around the base as he starts bobbing his head back and forth, hollowing his cheeks out, reveling in the loud moan he pulls from Sam's chest. The fingers in Dean's hair tighten and Sam starts to thrust his hips forward until he hears Dean gag, feeling his throat constrict around his cock before the tightness is gone.

"Jesus - _Sammy_ - don't make me gag," Dean pants the words out and laughs breathlessly, stroking his brother's cock as he catches his breath. Above him, Sam shakes his head and grabs Dean's head, moving a thumb to his lips, parting them; it only takes Dean a second to open his mouth and take Sam in all the way again, moaning loudly.

With one loud grunt, Sam pushes his hips forward and groans, "Such a good little - _ngh_ - cockslut, aren't you?" He pulls out and listens to Dean cough, watches as he nods his head, the head of his cock resting against Dean's lips. It's only then, when Sam notices that he's got red lipstick all over his cock and he laughs, pulling away from Dean.

"Up," he mutters, tapping Dean's shoulder until he stands, his legs shaking underneath him. "Bend the fuck over, I'm gonna fuck you."

"Christ, Samm—"

"_Do it_," Sam interrupts, raising his brows and giving Dean a menacing look until he obeys, turning to bend over the counter. He sticks his ass out and presses his palms flat against the top of the counter, looking at Sam in the mirror in front of him. Behind Dean, Sam takes a step back and then drops to his knees, moving both hands to either side of his brother's ass.

Biting back a moan, Dean closes his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Just stand there and enjoy it," Sam half-laughs the words out.

Dean takes a deep breath and lays his chest and stomach against the counter, closing his eyes even tighter. He feels Sam spread his ass slowly and shivers when his brother's hot breath falls against his entrance, his legs trembling underneath him. When Sam leans in and licks a broad stripe along the crease of his ass, Dean shudders and whimpers, digging his fingertips into the countertop.

"Shh," Sam whispers as he licks again, dragging his tongue from the top of Dean's ass all the way down, licking across his balls. There's a mixture of noises leaving Dean's throat as Sam licks and he revels in each one of them, pushing his tongue further and further into Dean's entrance, pulling out louder moans.

Pushing back against Sam's tongue desperately, Dean whines loudly when he feels his brother pull away, but nearly screams when he feels cold air blow on his entrance. From behind him, Sam laughs and leans back in, licking and kissing him before biting his ass once, standing to position the head of his cock against Dean.

"Ready, baby?" Sam asks and Dean blanks for a moment; he opens his eyes, pushing himself up on shaky arms, looking at Sam in the mirror. Dean doesn't know what he expects to see looking back at him, but he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that it's only Sam — his kid brother with shaggy hair and awkwardly proportioned limbs.

Biting his lip, Dean nods. "Gonna need some lube," he mutters around his lip.

Sam shakes his head and spits on the palm of his hand before rubbing it on his cock, pressing the slick head against Dean again. It feels hot against Dean's entrance and he pushes back, feeling it push past the first ring of muscles, causing him to cry out softly.

"It's alright, sweetheart," Sam mumbles behind him, leaning in to kiss one of Dean's shoulders, before biting down into the tanned skin. He cries out again and bucks back toward Sam, toward his cock, shutting his eyes tightly as he feels more of his brother slip inside of him.

And Sam goes slow, working a pace that they're both comfortable with until Dean starts pushing back against him, making needy sounds. When Sam's about to open his mouth and tell Dean that he doesn't want to hurt him, the eldest pushes back all the way, moaning loudly as Sam's entire cock buries inside him.

Gasping, Sam moves his hands to Dean's hair and hip, groaning, "You're so fucking tight, Deanna. _Fuck_, baby, m'not gonna last long fucking you."

"Sam," Dean moans, his voice breathless as he moves one of his hands to the one on his hip, lacing his fingers with Sam's. Much to his surprise, Sam doesn't swat his hand away or drop it, but tightens the grip on it as he pulls out slowly, both of them moaning in unison.

With one snap of his hips, Sam drives into Dean harder and presses his face against his brother's back, breathing heavily against it. He starts to rotate his hips, clockwise and then counterclockwise, working in a rhythm that makes Dean moan louder and louder, before slamming in. The head of Sam's cock hits his prostate and Dean cries out, moaning Sam's name _loudly_.

Sam chuckles and grips Dean's hair tightly, pulling his head back. "Feels so good, Dean. Never thought I'd get to fuck you and now I'm glad I am," Sam gasps and presses his lips to the hollow of Dean's throat, rasping out, "and you take my cock so well, _Deanna_; like you were fucking made to have your baby brother's cock in your ass."

"Fuck, Sam - _wanna come_." Dean moans out, listening to Sam tut, feeling his brother teeth drag along his skin, making Dean's entire body shudder again. Without warning, Sam pushes Dean against the counter again, one hand pressed between his shoulder blades, fucking into him harder.

"You - _oh fuck_ - come when - when I tell you." It's getting increasingly difficult for Sam to talk as he fucks Dean harder, losing all rhythm all together. His hips jerk forward sporadically, the fingers on Dean's back dragging down his spine as their skin slaps together loudly.

Underneath Sam, Dean is a writhing, whimpering mess; he shudders when Sam pulls out all the way, nearly screams when the kid slams back in, hitting his prostate constantly. His cock throbs between him and the counter and he begs Sam, over and over, to let him come, but his brother never lets him.

The air in the room quickly fills with the scent of sweat, sex, and whatever perfume Dean was wearing that Sam never noticed until now. Growling, Sam leans down and bites Dean's back hard enough to make it bleed, slamming into him harder when his brother moans his name out over and over, a mantra of 'Sammy' and 'oh, Sammy' rolling off his tongue.

Soon, Sam's entire body starts to shake and his legs feel like jelly; he has to support himself by gripping the edge of the counter, his hips still slamming into Dean unmercifully. There's absolutely no finesse to Sam's thrusting and, with one finally jerk of the hips, he comes hard, burying his face in Dean's hair, panting against it.

Whimpering loudly, Dean pushes back against Sam, moaning, "Please, Sammy — lemme come. _Fucking hurts._" Each one of Dean's words come out as a desperate pleas and Sam steps back, pulling out of his brother before turning him around, pinning him against the counter.

"Come - _huff_ - for me," Sam pants out, moving a hand to Dean's cock, stroking it slowly, watching as he throws his head back, his neck exposed. Without thinking, Sam leans forward and bites at his Adam's apple, sucking on it as he strokes Dean quickly, mumbling things against his neck to get him to come; "Bet you can still feel my cock in your ass, huh? Feel my come in there? I know you wanna blow your load all over me, baby; come on and do it, Dean. Come all over your baby brother, show him how pretty girls do it."

The last line pushes Dean over the edge and he comes, wrapping both arms around Sam's neck, fingernails digging into his shoulders. His entire body shakes as his orgasm hits, thick ropes of come hitting Sam's stomach and chest, coating his hand as he strokes Dean through it all.

Once Dean's done and his body has stopped shaking, Sam drops his hand away and disentangles himself away from Dean, grinning at the mess they're both in; Dean's makeup is smeared and his hair is all over the place and he's got bite marks on his shoulders and neck. He looks down at the mess on his stomach and chest, looking back up at Dean though his bangs.

"Clean it up?" Sam asks quietly, his voice almost gone completely, and he chuckles breathlessly as Dean nods, biting at his swollen lips. Without any hesitation, Dean ducks his head and sucks at a spot on Sam's chest, dragging his tongue down a trail of come, collecting it on his tongue. He swallows eagerly and cleans Sam up, kissing back up before getting to his lips, pecking them quickly.

"Hey Sammy?" Dean whispers against Sam's lips, wrapping both arms around him.

Sam hums quietly, resting his head against Dean's. "What is it?"

"Don't — " Dean chuckles and swallows hard, continuing, "Don't tell mom about me being a drag queen_or_ a stripper, okay? She'll have a complete breakdown and I'm not ready to go through that twice."

"I won't tell — wait, _twice_?" Sam quirks a brow, intrigued.

Dean turns a deep shade of crimson and mumbles, "I told dad and he kind of flipped shit on me, but he's cool with it. He said that if I ever have a show of my own that's not in a _strip club_, he'll be in the front row, rooting for me."

Shaking his head, Sam smiles and nods, kissing Dean softly before pulling away to look around the room. Clothes are thrown all over the place and there's still an open bottle of champagne on the floor, which Sam doesn't intend on finishing, and he turns back to grin at Dean.

"I'm gonna get outta here, alright? Let you get yourself situated, and I'm gonna go scrub this lipstick off me." Laughing, he leans in and kisses Dean slowly, moving a hand to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. And Dean kisses back just as slow, his tongue dragging across Sam's bottom lip before they ease apart.

"See you at home?" Dean asks, voice small and tight.

Sam scoffs and goes to pick up his boxers and jeans. "Of course, I plan on doing this," he motions to himself and Dean before pulling his jeans on, grinning, "when you get your tight little ass home." Dean blushes and nods, moving to grab his corset; when he moves past Sam, he smacks Dean's ass and grabs his shirt, slipping it on.

When both of them are dressed again, they share one last kiss and Sam grins, shaking his head as he mumbles, "Can't believe my brother's a drag queen."

"Get used to it, Sammy." Dean bites Sam's bottom lip and tugs it before pulling away, grabbing his wig. He situates it on top of his head and winks at Sam before moving to the door.

"Hey." Dean turns around and quirks a brow at Sam, a hand on the doorknob. "I'll see you later, _Deanna._" They both grin at each other and Dean lifts his free hand, waving at Sam before opening the door and disappearing through the door, heading back into the dark club.

Taking a deep breath, Sam runs a hand through his hair and takes a moment to collect himself and to process what happened. He looks around the room one last time, snorts once, and walks to the door, leaving the room and heading to the door, passing the manager without paying.

The manager doesn't follow him and Sam doesn't expect him to, though he takes his time getting in the car just in case he decides to come out. When he doesn't, Sam gets behind the wheel and starts the engine, backing out of his parking spot before pulling out of the lot, heading home.

In the back of his mind, Sam wonders how long it will take his mom to find out that Dean is a drag queen; after that, he wonders how long it will take both their mom _and_ dad to find out they he and Dean are fucking. The latter thought is funnier than the first and Sam laughs about it the entire way home.


End file.
